Fate Cry Out
by CJ1145
Summary: Ten years have passed since the Fifth Heaven's Feel, and the Sixth has begun. As this irregular War begins, the Great Grail shows signs of its last breath. Seven Masters and Seven Servants: This is the system of the Holy Grail War. But the system is breaking down. One young girl must face the challenge of this war between magi, and discover her role in ending the Heaven's Feel.
1. 00 Prologue: The Marshall

She is dreaming. The girl is remembering something distant, in a dark splotch of her life that she can only recall in the deepest recesses of her mind. It is a scene she has seen play out a thousand times, and she knows she will see it thousands more. There is a silhouette strolling down a darkened street. It is twilight, just ere break of day. The streetlamps have all fizzled out, and he walks wreathed in darkness. The silhouette belongs to an old man. He holds himself with dignity, a cane clutched in his good hand to support his weight. His clothes are all black, and a short cloak is draped over his shoulders.

His pace is leisurely, and he is humming to himself. His face is wreathed in old, gray hair and a thick beard. His ravaged and wrinkled features are cranked into a mischievous smile, and his notes are interspersed with light chuckles. His left arm is clutched up against himself, and in it he holds precious cargo: a young girl, barely old enough to be called more than a toddler. Her hair is ruffled and a dull shade of red, flattened as her head is pressed up against his shoulder. The girl is not responsive, and her body jumps and shifts with every adjustment in the old man's step. Her eyes stare blankly at the man who is carrying her, unblinking and immobile. The man is staring straight ahead, but every once in a while he glances over, checking on the state of his charge. He still feels life in her hands, clutching the fabric of his hands out of an instinctive desire to live. But he feels her grip loosening. He takes another glance at her neck, or what is left. Her soft, white flesh has been torn apart by ravenous, razor-sharp teeth, ripping away her gullet as simply as a child bites into a fresh apple. A slurry of half-dried blood has slid from her throat and caked onto his cloak. Her eyes are blank and hold no spark of life. They have taken on a hue red as the blood that falls from her wounds.

But she is alive. The man knows this much. Her chest is pressed up against his, and he can still feel her faint heartbeat. The pitter-patter of her little organ amuses him, and the man smiles at her.

"Little miracles. Strange little people like you are what make life worth living, you know?"

The girl hears him, dulled and distant, but clear. But she does not understand what he means when he says that.

"I believe that anyone else in your position would have already given in and just died already. But something's different about you, isn't there? Maybe you're just a little too stubborn to die?"

The old man laughs, throwing his head back and putting his heart into the motion. The warmth he projects to the girl is strange and confusing. Not nurturing or caring, like a parent. The affection he shows seems to her like the type that is stumbled upon and not sought out. It is a sensation she has never understood, to be cared for not because she was known of and intentionally saved, but to be stumbled across by accident, and on a whim chosen to live. That is the feeling this girl receives in this man's arms.

"But, even if you got lucky…"

He glances again at her wound, and for a moment his lined face looks severe and doubtful.

"You won't last much longer with that thing. Too much blood lost. You'll definitely die."

He makes a factual observation, not out of malice or amusement. It is merely the truth. Even if he has stumbled across this girl and deigned to pick her up from the puddle of blood he found her in, that is all he has done. Her wounds are beyond treatment. There is no possibility for recovery. There is nothing within the realm of possibility that can save her life.

Even so. The man cackles, wheezing like an old man as he adjusts his arm, hefting the girl a bit as he picks up his tempo of travel.

"Still, we're pretty close now. Maybe if you keep that stubbornness up a little bit longer… I might be able to do at least something."

He smiles as the first rays of the sun peek over the horizon, bathing their street in a warm orange glow. He descends the hill they are on, down into town.

"Are you old enough to know what a wager is? I think I'd like to make one with you: if you survive until I've taken you somewhere safe, then I'll give you a prize. It's very valuable, honest!"

He laughs childishly at his peculiar attempt at a joke, and pulls the child a little closer into his embrace, reaching the bottom of the hill, turning right at an intersection. Ahead of them is not the city, but a deep and secluded forest. He stands motionless for a moment, glancing at the girl, wondering if she had the strength to reply.

"Well?"

The girl is paralyzed. There is no breath left in her scorched, aching lungs. Her heart is beating faintly, as slowly as it might to conserve blood. She is awake but cannot move, and yet she must. She feels a deep certainty that her survival revolves around this man, and he will not take her into that forest unless she agrees. But she has no means to do so. Her chapped lips part, and with all her might, she draws in air, even if almost nothing can get through her mangled throat.

And with this one breath she blows outward, and through her lips the tiniest whistle plays a note in the air. The old man's smile widens, and he laughs at her proudly. He regains his pace and steps into the forest, taking her beyond the watchful eyes of men, and into a world she knows nothing of.

"Ha! Very well then. A wager it is."


	2. 01 Day 1: Early Risers

**JANUARY 18****th**

It was just a dream.

I clutch at my neck, rising up from the futon laid on the bedroom floor. A look out the window tells me it's still dawn, as the sun is just beginning to rise. I've had that dream a thousand times, but it has never stopped feeling real. The details have already faded from my memory, but still I feel the need to know that it was truly just a dream. My flesh is intact, and I'm breathing fine, if a bit irregularly. My heart's pace has picked up from the realization of illusory danger. I've never really felt scared during the dream, but every night in that space between sleep and waking up, my body seems to remember that it should have been fearful in that situation.

But that's over and done with, for the moment, and I can focus on my routine. I stand, arching my back and stretching out to wake myself. A fresh pain shoots up my back.

"Mm… I should be on the market for a new bed. Ow."

I can hear the faint sound of scraping utensils drifting in from the hallway. My housemate's already awake, then, and I'd guess she's started on breakfast. And considering the peaceful atmosphere, our _other _guest isn't here yet. Good. I can focus on other matters that need to be addressed.

I rub my hands together as I approach my closet, pulling a clean uniform out and throwing my pajamas off before getting dressed. The quiet chirping of birds outside provides a serene backdrop to the scene… briefly.

"_KR-AAAAAAW!"_

The brutal screech of a crow pierces the serenity like a knife, scattering the frightened birds and leaving a frustrated girl indoors, wishing death upon the rat with wings.

But that is only an idle wish to occupy me. I don't have the skills to chase that bird down and strangle it. The pattern I've worked out for myself only takes about a minute, and at the end I look like a perfectly average schoolgirl. Or a close facsimile to one, anyway. A glance in the mirror tells me the curse of my red hair is as untamable as always. I don't bother trying to comb it. Even attempting it is futile, and would only bring pain. I just have to shrug and bear it. Good enough.

I head to the door, deciding on what to do with myself for now. Based on the sound coming out of the hallway, breakfast isn't quite finished yet. That leaves my with a little time to herself, time which can be spent addressing an issue of small concern.

"Maybe I can even get a little practice done before I eat."

The hallway is quiet, the smooth lacquered wood aesthetically pleasing, even if it's a little ascetic without any decoration. I live in one of the larger houses in her neighborhood, one of those older, real feudal-style homes, and its winding structure is baffling to newcomers. And, on some days, to me as well. Counter-intuitive and complex, it requires strange, roundabout routes to get anywhere. A trip from the kitchen to the bathroom could take a full minute if you make a wrong turn. Though luck's in my favor today, and the door I'm looking for is just across the hall. I pull on a screen door and step out into the yard.

The grass outside is browned and lifeless in the months of winter, but even in this early morning it's comfortably warm outside. This is probably Fuyuki's most pleasant day since the fall. This city's always had pretty warm winters, but this might be the warmest yet. You don't even need a coat most days, unless you're out at night. The sun is just starting to rise, and the lower reaches of the sky are still bathed in warm shades of orange and red. The sound of footsteps crunching on the grass is the only sound in the air as I take my first few steps. But the shuffling and clicking of little talons makes me turn my head back to the house.

There on the roof is a little black bird, the crow that scared off all the other birds I'd prefer to have around. Its feet are shuffling a bit, and its gleaming eyes are scanning the yard restlessly. But when I look at it, I feel a tingling in my spine. For a brief instant, I feel the crow's eyes fixated dead on me. It's not just watching idly like an animal. It's scanning me closely, deliberately staring straight on at me.

And not a moment has passed before the crow spreads its wings and cries, flapping off into the air and out of sight.

"How… odd."

I keep staring at where it had been sitting for a few moments longer. The strange sensation I'd felt locking eyes with the bird is gone now, but the feeling of confusion lingers. What was so strange about the bird?

"Gah, I shouldn't sit here pondering over something so pointless."

I shake myself out of my thoughts and turn back to where I'd intended to go from the start. At the back of the yard stands a simple, sturdy shed. Its old walls aren't much to look at, and the paint has chipped in many places. Even so, this is the only place I've got that can let me really concentrate. The heavy metal doors creak as I push them open, and the dark interior greets me like I'm reuniting with an old friend. A single window lets in a bit of light, and I take a kneeling position under it after I've shut myself in and out of sight. The discomfort that's been slowly rising all morning is finally reaching its peak, and now that I'm sure I won't be interrupted I can take a closer look at it. My hand pulls back the sleeve on my left arm, and I investigate the back of my hand.

Sure enough, the skin is discolored in splotches, like I've developed some kind of rash.

"Is it some kind of allergic reaction?" I murmur. I've never been allergic to anything. Having a reaction this far into my life seems a little unlikely. My fingers trace along the rash, and to my surprise there's a few spots where the flesh has risen up. I follow with a single finger, and outline the odd little formations.

This was a mistake. The itching, writhing sensation was at least somewhat tolerable before. Now I've got a feeling like maggots are crawling in my skin. Reflex controls me, and before I know what's happened…

"Gh—YOOOOOW!"

…A dull sound of ringing metal fills the shed. I've smashed the back of my hand on a metal crate. Just to replace the sensation with anything else. And naturally, since I'm an _idiot, _I chose to replace it with pain. My hand pulsates with agony, screaming pleas to my brain, asking "Why the hell did you do that?!"

I don't know, hand. I'm sorry. I just don't know. Well, so much for inspecting the rash closer—geez, it's _really _red now. I can't tell where the reaction ends and the self-inflicted injuries begin. I've pretty much botched that entire half of my plans for the morning. I suppose now I'll get to work on something else then. As it happens, I have more business with that crate, and with the hand that isn't bearing a grudge for the moment, I swipe the lid off of its top and retrieve an old book. Red and leather-bound, the title is written in a foreign language I don't understand. But its pages are partially in kanji, and I can read that well enough. I flip open the volume to a page I've dog-eared, and read from the first passage I see.

"Right where I left off… Man, there's a lot of fluff in this thing… Okay, so that's the gist then. 'Concentrate, supply the magical energy, and recite the aria.' Simple, right?"

I reach into the depths of the shed. Underneath the rickety old staircase to its stone loft, there's a crawl space with all sorts of junk that's been crammed in over the years. Junk like this book, and junk quite unlike it. For example, I snag an old piece of metal. I think it's from some piping system, but I'm not particularly stellar with machines, so I wouldn't know. Taking the metal, I set it down in front of me as I sit, and extend my hands over the scrap.

Step one is to control my breathing, and clear my mind. That's easy. I close my eyes, and all excess baggage is dumped out of my head. The world outside isn't there. All that exists right now is the contents of this shed. Myself, and this metal. Now comes the harder part. I force my concentration and channel it through my body. I visualize the reaction happening in my body as I commence the ritual. Crackling lines run a circuit through my body. Just like electricity through a wire, I funnel the energy of my own body through these lines, and I apply it to the recipient: the metal beneath my hands. Now comes the most difficult part: I must shape this formless action into something definite. And that's the aria. Words of intention, to form my own intentions into a clear and observable action. I whisper a chant I've created for myself,

"—_Wind__—_

—_Identify and refine my domain—_

—_Producing pressure. Manipulating airflow— _

—_Spin—"_

I can feel the flow of my body as energy is funneled out, and wraps the pipe up in its embrace. I feel a cool sensation on my face, and open my eyes. I can scarcely believe what's happening right in front of me, even if I've caused it.

A little cyclone of wind has picked up, and loose objects in the shed are twirling around, helpless and fluttering in its breeze. Fragments of paper, loose nails and splinters of wood, all are helpless in the miniature gale. But I'm not concerned with any of that child's play right now. What has me entranced is the bit of metal floating inch by inch above the ground, spinning listlessly in the grasp of my wind. I clamp my hands over my mouth, afraid I'll squeal.

I did it! I really did it, the spell worked!

…Oh.

I probably should have mentioned this sooner, huh?

My name is Shizuka Suwabe. And I am a magus.

Or, maybe that's not accurate. I'm just an amateur trying to be a magus. A magus is something you're born as, but I wasn't born into any family or gifted with talent. I believe this to be true. In all honesty, I can't even remember the faces of my parents. It's been almost ten years since the lives of my parents were taken in a home invasion. I suppose it's possible they could have been magi, but I doubt it. Almost as long as I can remember, I've lived in this sprawling, confusing house with only one person to share it with. And for just as long, I've been trying to hone my skills, and become a magus.

It all started with the red book sitting open next to me, its pages flapping about like mad in the wind I've started. Out in this shed I found this book, and others like it, talking about strange words I couldn't grasp at first: "prana, spells, magecraft."

"Magic."

I found more books like the one here scattered in hidden spots all through this house, and I gathered them up. I was a kid: curious, excited. Even if these books were probably fake, it was one of those childish fantasies that could really motivate you at that age. Becoming some kind of wizard, right? What eight year old would pass up an opportunity like that?

It was hard going at first. I had no grasp of the theory behind it, and the books were vague. They were probably meant to supplement lessons from some kind of tutor, but they were all I had to go off of, so I stuck with it. And what I'm looking at before me is the product of almost a decade of work.

…Wow. It sounds pretty awful when you put it like that. Still, I'm proud of it. This is the most powerful spell I've ever cast. It is also, as far as I can tell, the only spell I can cast. Every magus has an affinity towards a certain type of spell, and it is what they would be most effective with should they specialize in it. My affinity is wind, and thus wind magecraft is the only kind I've focused on. It's the only one I can pull off, really.

It's been about twenty seconds now, and the spell is winding down. Slowly the scrap of metal ceases its spinning and settles to the floor, scratching against the stone and sending a chill up my spine from the harsh sound. I let go of the breath I've been holding and feel something cold against my skin. I place a hand to my face and feel sweat pouring down. Even if my spellcasting skills have improved, it takes a toll on me when I try it. I pack up my things and put the book back in its place. One spell is all I can manage at a time; if I tried it again I'd probably know myself out cold.

Good thing, too. I hear someone coming. Still sitting, I pick up the scrap of metal and heft it in my hand as I hear a voice calling from outside and a hand pounding on the shed door.

"Yo! Yooooo, Shizuka! You in there?"

The door creaks open, and a face that looks like it's just awoken from twenty years of sleep pokes through. A long tangle of thick black hair, eyes so gloomy she'd put Eeyore to shame, and a slouch that might just cut her total height in half. This would be Megumi Ooura, my housemate.

She turns her head, slowly, and spots me on the floor.

"Oh, hey. Listen, I just wanted to…"

She stops mid-sentence and just stares at me for a moment. A tinge of red creeps onto her face… W-Why is she staring at me like—oh.

"Uh, am I interrupting…?"

I'm sitting here, red-hot and sweating with a foreign object clutched in my hand.

Oh god.

I toss the metal away. "_No! _No, you are not!" I protest.

"Whatever you think I was doing, I wasn't doing it!"

She seems to relax for a second, but with a curious face she asks:

"Oh? Then what were you doing?"

Crap. What am I supposed to tell her? That I was doing magic tricks? She'd just laugh at me. And I'm not exactly in any condition to repeat my last success. I try to come back with something, but all I can do is hang my head in shame. I hear a shameless chuckle from my housemate, and I shoot a glare at her in response. She throws her hands up in surrender, averting her eyes.

"Hey, don't sweat it. It's your body, what you do with it is your business…"

I am going to throttle this woman.

"But, just one comment: a random chunk of pipe? Seriously? That's gotta _hurt_. If you're that embarrassed to just go out and buy one, you can borrow one of mine, 'kay?"

"Sh-shut up!"

Oh, _real _smooth, Shizuka. "It wasn't anything like—"

Wait. _One _of hers? Does she have a collect—I don't let myself finish the thought. Great, now I'm blushing too. This conversation is quickly turning into a cavalcade of disgusting things I never wanted to learn about Megumi, so I try and steer it away as best as my flustered self can.

"Was there a reason you came out here, or were you just going to be lewd for a while longer?!"

"Yeah. I was just gonna say breakfast is ready whenever… but Fujimura-sensei's already here. So if you want to actually eat any of it, you should probably get a move on."

With a half-hearted wave, Megumi spins on her heel and departs the shed like none of this had ever happened. Smart girl. I should probably do the same. I stand and pat myself off, the dust that had collecting scattering in the air. Megumi's pretty thoughtful for warning me about Fujimura. If I don't stake a claim for myself fast, there won't be any left. The cleaning's already done in here, so I hurry out of the shed and shut the door behind me, taking the quickest route to the living room.

Everything's already been set up. The television is droning on in background, and a few steaming plates of food have been doled out. Megumi is slouching at the table, pawing at a bit of her food. And sitting next to her would be the Tiger herself.

"Mm? Ah, good morning, Shizuka!"

Taiga Fujimra sputters out a greeting between mouthfuls of rice. She hasn't aged a day since I first met her, and she's been wearing that same dress for just as long. I just smile and wave back, suppressing my darker thoughts. This woman's over twice my age, and she's acting like she's half of mine…

I take a seat across from Megumi and thank her for cooking before digging into the food. I don't make eye contact. Heaven knows what will happen if that conversation starts back up around Fujimura. I'd rather not even think about it.

This is "normal" for me, I'm sorry to say. Sometimes I have to take a step back and question how I wound up sharing breakfast every morning with a creep and a tiger.

I think there's a saying that goes "You can choose your friends, but not your family." Right? Well, this is my family. I've known Megumi since we were little, before my parents passed away. Street urchin isn't quite the right title for what she was, but if she had a home or parents, I never saw them. She was a freeloader for as long as I can remember, showing up every night for dinner, and staying overnight at least twice a week. I don't recall much from before my parents died, but I definitely remember her. After the accident, she and I stuck together. I didn't have anyone else, and she didn't seem to want anybody else. Of course, that still left two children without a home.

That's where Fujimura came in. I don't know who mentioned us to her, but she was a lifesaver. As it happened, when we were seeking a new home, an old friend of hers was moving out of his. That left a vacancy which she offered to us. Naturally, we accepted, because we couldn't possibly have known the price for our actions:

"Omnomnom… mm, so good~"

…Spending the rest of our lives with Taiga as our guardian. And to this day, she mooches off of our food, draining our granary as she fattens her own greedy stomach. As I take my seventh bite, Taiga is reaching for her second bowl. She's like some kind of gluttonous feudal lord. Your family is guaranteed safety, so long as you continue to supply her with 60% of your harvest. My fellow serf and I share a glance, and push our bowls away. Just watching her eat is consumption enough to obliterate the appetites of everyone in the room. A few more moments pass before she's done, wiping off her face and stretching out like a lazy cat.

"Ah, delicious! Thanks again, Megumi."

"Don't sweat it, I didn't know what I was going to do with all that cat food anyway."

A chill like a wave of ice passes through the room for a brief moment as Taiga decides how to respond. Her appreciation of food seems to have overridden her urge to kill, and she forgives my housemate for the veiled jab. She turns to me next.

"I'm glad you showed up when you did, Shizuka. I think I was about to starve to death. What took you so long?"

"She was out in the shed ma—"

"—MATCH, uh, matching up files. I mean, sorting them together. Copies. For, uh, the student council."

I shoot a nasty glare at Megumi, who for her part is entirely nonplussed. She sticks her tongue out at me and leans back to watch me do damage control.

"I—er, I mean they, the other council members, asked me to work on the budget overnight. I was keeping the copies in the shed. And now they're all in my… bag, ready to go."

Man, I'm bad at lying. Are there classes I can take on this? It's not like I need a doctorate in the art, though; Taiga buys my story without question, and is as mildly interested as she's obligated to be. But I still see that mischievous glint in Megumi's eyes. If I don't get Fujimura-sensei out of this house fast, that topic's going to get drawn kicking and screaming into the open. I'll have to go for a Hail Mary on this one. I take a wild guess and ask.

"Uh, Fujimura-sensei? Shouldn't you finish grading the English tests before school starts?"

There is a moment of absolute silence in the living room. Even the television has faded from hearing. I swear I see a tumbleweed out the window. I attempt to blink, and within that action lies my folly. Taiga's just too fast for me. In the millisecond my eyes are closed, the Tiger is on the move, and once I've opened them she's already made her way to the door.

"Thanks for the reminder! I'll see you both at practice, all right?! Remember to lock up—"

Megumi and I jump as the door slams, and the entire house reverberates from the shockwave. There's a second moment of quiet, though it is not peaceful. It's the quiet moment of reflection after a tornado has passed through. As I watch the door, I hear knuckles crack to my side.

"Welp! On to the daily grind, I guess."

Megumi hops from the floor and scoops her bag up, heading for the door. I start to follow before I notice a crucial error. I've been left with the dishes.

"…Jerk."

It takes me a few extra minutes, but I've got plenty of extra time when I'm up this early. I wash and put away everything from breakfast and hurry to the front door. To my surprise, Megumi's still waiting for me with a smile that doesn't suit her. Wait, scratch that. It suits her _too _well. I don't like the look of it. We step outside, and I lock the door behind me.

"So what's got you in such a good mood?"

Megumi glances at me as we start the daily trek to our school, and flashes a demonic smile. "Oh, it's just been a really great day so far. And I feel like it's gonna get _even _better."

Oh wow, I do not like that face. "First of all, I said it wasn't what it looked like."

"Right, right. No need to get so defensive, Shizuka. I said it wasn't any of my business."

"Then stop trying to spring it on people!"

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh? So you _were _up to something then?"

I can feel my face turning red. I try to protest, and the words just catch in my throat. I bow my head to the victor. "You're evil."

"Evil?" She looks hurt, and places a hand on her chest, mustering up her most innocent face. "All I have for you is love. To think you'd misinterpret my affection as malice!"

She starts gesturing wildly, lamenting something. I hear the word "betrayal" being thrown around a lot. I just huff and try to tune her out. Then I hear a whine like a dejected puppy. Out of the corner of my eye, a warbling frown and eyes just on the verge of tears are pestering me. She has this down to an art. I fold my arms and keep walking. But it's no use. I feel the pressure of her staring at me no matter how much I avert my gaze, and I don't have the endurance to keep up with her. I roll my eyes and let out the puff of air I'd been holding in.

I smile at Megumi, and get a doofy grin back.

"Fine, you're not evil. You're just insane."

Like I said, you can't choose your family.

* * *

"Holy cow."

High above Japan, just coming in from the ocean, a jetliner parses through a fat layer of clouds and begins to descend from the troposphere. Around the middle of this plane, one window's shade has been pushed up, and a young man has pressed his face up against the glass, trying to position his body to get a look at the land below. His face is boyish, with a prominent nose and shining blue eyes. Golden flax hair falls down to his brows, and presently he is smiling in a way that could only be called "giddy".

This young man's name is Placid Goodwin. And he, too, is a magus. He has taken a plane from his home in America to Japan. His eyes scan the vast landscape below him, trying to make out every geographical detail he can spot from such a height.

He takes in a breath just as he takes in the beautiful view.

"So this is Japan, huh? It's amazing."

Placid hears a groan from the seat next to him. In it sits an older man, perhaps just leaving early adulthood, dressed in a plain blue shirt and jeans. His bony face is concealed by well-coiffed brown hair and a thick mustache covering his lip. He is rolling his eyes.

"And what's your deal?" the boy asks his traveling companion. He gets a glare of warning from the older man, and his swelled ego shrinks.

"Frivolities aren't worth the time you'd waste on them. Not right now. In case you have forgotten, we've come to Japan for a _reason_. You're not a tourist. You are a Master."

"Sheesh, give the kid a break!"

An arm flies across the aisle from a third man, and cracks the second right below the shoulder. This third man has a face similar to the second's, but clean-shaven, and his receding hairline is covered up by a brown newsboy cap. He wears a teal polo shirt and khaki shorts. His face is lined with a disapproving frown to match his companion's, who is now rubbing his arm and looking none too happy. "Pull the stick out of your ass and let him have some fun. Don't tell me you're not even a _little _excited about visiting a new country?"

The other man averts his eyes, stern and composed. "I never said that! But there isn't any room for escapades or sightseeing. If he lets his guard down, then he's as good as dead."

The one in the polo leans across the aisle, ready to shatter his brother's jaw with his fist, but hesitates when he sees Placid give him a look: disappointed and resigned, but understanding. Slowly, he pulls back and relaxes back into his seat. The flax-haired man's shoulders slope downward as he sinks into the cushions of his chair.

"Don't worry about him, Rider. He's right, really. I just got a little overexcited is all, don't mind me."

Placid's eyes drift back towards the window, and keep watching the crawling landscape far below, oblivious to the upset expression his neighbor bears.

"It's just really depressing to think about, y'know? Coming all this way, to such a beautiful place…"

A light above everyone's seats blink on, and alert the passengers to put up their trays and to fasten their seatbelts. The jet was coming in for a landing.

"…Just to kill people."


End file.
